little things
by candycity
Summary: five moments in levi's life that are harder to forget than others. levi-centric, slight implied rivetra.


**1. rain**

he hears footsteps around the corner, but he's too weak to move. his fingers are wrapped around the hilt of the dagger; his heels dig into the muddy ground.

the man finally emerges, and he sees levi on the ground, maneuver gear in pieces around him.

"i'm sorry for doing that," the man says calmly, as though he hadn't just cut the strings of levi's most valuable possession and sent him crashing to the ground, breaking his maneuver gear - and his ribs, judging by the sharp knives of pain shooting up his chest whenever he moves.

"fuck you," levi spits. his grip tightens imperceptibly around his weapon, knuckles whitening with the strain. the small movement, unfortunately, doesn't go unnoticed by the man.

"don't bother," he says, raising his eyebrows slightly - amused? impressed by the boy's viciousness, even in such a weakened state? "i'm not going to do anything to you. what's your name?"

he holds out a hand. levi stares at it like it's covered with poison ivy, and he withdraws it quickly enough.

part of levi wants to respond that _it's none of his fucking business_, but there's something in the man's eyes - a quiet firmness that doesn't falter under levi's glare - that convinces him to mutter his name. part of it, anyway.

"levi."

the man doesn't question the lack of the last name. "my name is erwin smith, commander of the recon corps. i saw you using the maneuver gear," he continues, "and you're only, what? fifteen? sixteen?"

_fourteen_, levi corrects him mentally, but doesn't bother pointing it out.

"you have talent," he says, "and we could use a soldier like you."

levi's about to tell him to go fuck himself when erwin continues, "food, water, security - you can have all of that."

"all you have to do," he extends a hand again, "is fight."

levi looks at the hand.

he doesn't take it, but he offers an almost imperceptible nod.

erwin smiles.

the downpour continues unrelentingly in the background, rain pounding mercilessly onto the cracked pavement.

**2. sweets**

levi never admits it, but he's always had a bit of a penchant for sweets.

he supposes it comes from all the years of eating whatever he could scrounge - from the back of shops, from those weaker than him - it didn't matter. most of the food was barely edible, let alone sweet.

even now, when he does have access - somewhat - to sugar, he drinks his coffee black, the bitterness coating his tongue and jerking him into alertness.

when the new member of his squad - petra ral - brings him his coffee, however, it isn't black. it's still strong, but there is a subtle sweetness that lingers at the back of his tongue, and a familiar, rich scent that reminds him of the bakery he passed on the way to school every day, during his childhood.

"it's sweet," he notes aloud. petra blushes slightly, and fumbles with her words out of sheer nervousness.

"i'm sorry, sir - i-i just thought...you've had enough bitterness - in your life, that is - sir. that's all."

her perceptiveness is unexpected, and he stares at her, slightly taken aback, for a few moments before regaining his senses.

"no matter. you can continue making it like this," he says, "i like it better sweet, anyway." it's the first time he's admitting this aloud, and her eyes widen.

"y-yes, sir."

he waves her off, and he sips at the coffee again, finally pinpointing the subtle sweetness and rich fragance as vanilla.

he notices that, as mike later points out, she smells like vanilla, too.

**3. handwriting**

his own handwriting is a tidy slant, as flawless as it is devoid of personality. it is a script that was drilled into him by the strict, sullen tutor at the orphanage, who demanded utmost consistency and conformation, without trace of individuality or flaws.

sometimes he thinks, with a touch of bitterness, that it resembles himself more than he'd like.

hanji's handwriting is a messy, impatient scrawl, a train wreck of sharp edges and inconsistent curls, wild and unpredictable as the woman herself. erwin's is clear and to the point, regulation perfect except for his habit of making a slash in the middle of his Zs.

when he teaches eren to write, the boy prints his letters painstakingly, slightly jagged and maybe a little wide and irregular from inexperience and sheer anxiety, but perfectly legible. eyes filled with utmost concentration, his pen digs so hard into the paper that levi is half-afraid it might tear. the unrestrained determination is reflected in his eyes as well as his words, and it doesn't take very long to realise that the boy is like that in everything he does.

even though eren seems ashamed of his efforts - _"your handwriting is so beautiful, corporal! and so effortless, too"_ - levi likes eren's handwriting a whole lot more than his own.

**4. music**

of all people, mikasa ackerman is the last person he'd expect to be musically talented.

and he's right. it's her brother, really, who is strangely adept at music, his fingers moving with an odd grace across the piano keys and his voice eerily serene and melodious for all the fire in his words.

she, however, is able at least appreciate music. a few notes sound from eren's newfound treasure - a guitar - and to no-one's surprise_ (where did the kid even learn this stuff, really)_ he starts picking at the newly tuned and cleaned strings with practiced ease. it slowly morphs into an old, familiar song that creates a dull ache - of recognition or nostalgia, he's not quite sure - in levi's chest.

he vaguely remembers quiet evenings spent listening to his mother sing as she did the sewing or the cooking. this was one of her favourites. levi's lips unconsciously move to mouth the lyrics soundlessly, as eren's smooth, warm voice fills the air.

mikasa glances at him out of the corner of her eye, curiosity blossoming in the dark grey as she realises he does know the song. she raises her chin slightly, as though in a challenge, and she joins in for the chorus, her delicate soprano rising to blend with eren's strong baritone.

before he can stop himself, he's joined in, too, his own voice joining the duet with some hesitance. the edges of mikasa's lips curve upwards slightly into something something that is almost a smile.

**5. red**

red is the colour of her hair - bright copper, with hints of gold that is forms a ghostly halo around her head in the warm glow of the setting sun.

it's the colour that rises to her cheeks when his lips brush against hers, and he can't help but think that the colour staining her cheeks is rather beautiful.

red is also the colour of the candied cherries that she always gets him whenever she goes to town for supplies, regardless of the fact that she's not supposed to, because it's his favourite and she likes to see him smile, even just for a few seconds.

red is what seeps into her otherwise pristine clothing, that paints her too-pale skin a dark crimson, drips off her lashes where it's mixed with unshed tears and splashes onto her slightly parted, faintly blue lips.

red is the the bloody sunset that stains the horizon that he doggedly races towards, because he can't look back, he can't look back, _hecan'tfuckinglookback -_

* * *

/

end.


End file.
